Pull Me Back
by TillThatTime
Summary: His breathing is harsh and Dean's scent is heavy on his tongue. The world is going up in flames and a gruff voice whispers in his ear, "This is why they call it sin, Cas." Dean/Cas, SLASH, major angst


**Disclaimer:** I AM Eric Kripke at long last releasing my secret desires…totally just kidding. I own nothing. Please don't sue, I wont do well in court.

**A/N:** Hello Lovelies, I've got another fic for you. However, this one is much different from Dancing In Your Underwear…unless you find heavy angst hilarious, because if that's the case, they might seem quite similar. This one is a two-parter as well. The second part is set directly after where this first part ends, and is the reason why this fic is rated M. So, you know the drill, let me know if you're interested in reading the second part.

**Warnings:** Tag to episode "Dark Side of the Moon." Boy-sexing and angst like whoa.

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_Pull Me Back_

Dean wonders if Heaven will always be this disappointing.

He stands, tells himself that he has to, even with blood caked on his back and bullet holes through his shirt, and packs his stuff. Sam does the same, fucked off in the back of the room and neither of them make eye contact, and right now Dean thinks that's just _fine_.

It's Castiel that doesn't move, lost in some trance laced with denial, and Dean can't look at him either but that's for an entirely different reason. It's not like he wants to believe what Joshua said either, but out of the three he probably believes it the most, because when faith wavers as much as his did it doesn't take a lot to push you over the edge, and even if he couldn't believe in God he could believe in God's ability to fuck his _children_ over.

Still, he has trouble breathing through it all.

Castiel shifts, speaks, and both he and Sam look up.

"Maybe…maybe Joshua was lying."

And it doesn't sound like Castiel believes that at all, but it's so _human _to want to be proven wrong, to want to be assured that there is still something left to believe in, and he thinks Castiel needs that, needs so desperately to be told that yes, maybe Joshua was lying, even if he wasn't.

But they have no time for reassurance, have no time to feel good, feel secure, and Dean wants to yell "welcome to the fucking party" because he hasn't truly felt any of those things in years.

"I don't think he was, Cas, I'm sorry."

And Sam's voice sounds almost cold, detached, and Dean's sure he didn't mean for it to be, but Sam's just as lost as the rest of them, so why should he try so hard to help Castiel find himself?

From the way Castiel's shoulders sag and his head bows, Dean knows that somehow those words must have broken his heart or some other metaphor that could never really describe the feeling properly.

Castiel straightens, begins to walk and for one moment Dean thinks he's going to walk out the door, which really doesn't make much sense, but then he stops and looks up and Dean really hopes that after everything, he's not about to drop to his knees and pray.

He doesn't disappoint.

"You son of a bitch, I believed in…"

The "you" and the "everything" is left unsaid but Castiel doesn't need to say it because they don't need to hear it anyway.

And no matter how many times he hears it, Dean will never get used to the odd sound of Castiel cursing, and he never thought he would hear it directed at _God._

He suddenly wants to jerk Castiel around and tell him to shut the hell up because God's not listening anyway and he doesn't need to waste his time because the world is going up in flames and Daddy's taking a break, and he likes to think that's just because he's angry, but even he knows that it's because he can't stand to hear the utter devastation in Castiel's voice.

He doesn't do it though. He just stands their looking as lost as they all feel.

There's silence then and no one moves, and Castiel just continues to stare up at the ceiling as if he's waiting for God to just crack it open, hand him a lollipop and say "Sorry kiddo, I'll make sure to be at your next baseball game." but of course that doesn't happen and Dean doesn't know where he pulled that analogy from anyway because it certainly wasn't from memory.

After a moment Castiel turns to face him and he wants to look away as the angel slowly walks towards him, but he can't because Castiel's reaching into his pocket and pulling something out like it's the last piece of worthless hope, because that's exactly what it is and he doesn't want to look away from hope, even if it no longer exists.

Castiel tosses him his necklace and it's never felt so heavy and so cheap before. It feels foreign in his hands, and he can't believe this is the thing that used to symbolize his brother's love and their hope in the search for God, but God's dead and Sammy's heaven doesn't include Dean, so it doesn't matter anyway.

"I don't need this anymore…it's worthless."

And doesn't that just really fucking sum it up?

Yet, it wasn't just the amulet that was worthless. It was their steadfast will to hold onto their bodies, their love for each other, their love for the world, and Castiel's faith. All of it, all of it was worthless now, because no one was listening anymore.

Dean just looks down at it, wondering why it used to matter so much, and from somewhere behind him he hears Sam speak up, finally ready to one more time put on the good show and try to fix everything…as if he actually could. You can't fix something if you're broken yourself.

"Cas, wait-"

And he wants to tell Sam to give it up already, but it's said for him in the way Castiel is suddenly gone when he looks up again, and he doesn't want to be worried that maybe Castiel wont come back after this, that with the loss of his faith came the loss of his will to fight, but it's sick and heavy in his chest and he can't seem to get rid of it, because if Cas wont keep fighting, he's not sure he can.

Suddenly Sam is in front of him, having enough left in him to actually be frustrated by all of this and he speaks words that Dean just doesn't want to hear anymore.

"We'll find another way. We can still stop all of this, Dean."

And he never thought that it could hurt so much to hear his name said by someone else, because Sammy is still his baby brother and the thought that he's clinging so desperately to something Dean just cannot believe in anymore stings more than he cares to admit.

"How?"

"I don't know, but we'll find it. You and me. We'll find it."

There's such conviction there, such determination and he really wants to punch Sam in the face because now, now Sam wants to include Dean in his life, when just hours ago Heaven for Sam included being anywhere but with Dean?

He resists his urges once more and instead returns to packing, because it's one of the few things he can do truly well. He grabs his bag and walks past Sam, still unable to look him in the eye and as he reaches the door he notices the trashcan. He can feel Sam's eyes on him, knows that he's watching, knows that this is going to hurt and still lets that piece of their bond slip from his fingers and fall into the garbage, and wonders if Sam gets the meaning behind it all as much as he does. When he hears Sam's inhale behind him he forces himself not to turn around, because seeing that face he loved would break any resolve he has.

He exits out the door without looking back.

When Castiel shows back up again, it is later that night in another motel room that Dean wont even remember the next day. Sam is in the room next to his because both of them had figured that it would be better if they didn't share this time around. Or rather, Dean had set it up that way at the counter and Sam had remained silent. Dean had simply stated that they might sleep better this way, which was of course the biggest load of bullshit because he didn't think he would be getting any sleep tonight and he was sure Sam wasn't fairing much better.

He was lying flat on his back, wide awake and trapped in his thoughts when Castiel popped in at the edge of his bed. He was used to the renegade angel doing that by now, but he couldn't deny that he was surprised that Castiel had appeared this soon after what had happened. He thought it would be days, weeks even, before he would have seen the other again.

There is no customary, "Hello Dean" this time and he doesn't say anything as Castiel just stares at him for a long moment before settling on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped between his knees and staring unwaveringly at the opposite wall.

The silence is almost unsettling but Dean can't bring himself to speak as he takes in the way Castiel's shoulders slouch and he breathes so slowly and calmly that the action almost seems forced, like the angel is either reminding himself to breathe or that he's trying to keep himself from hyperventilating. Dean's not sure which it is or if he's just imagining it all, but he's never seen Castiel look so…defeated.

It's wrong, the image of it all is just so…wrong, and he thinks to tell Castiel that, but in the end he just chooses silence.

He shifts in his temporary bed, the covers pooled around his waist and he waits for Castiel to speak, needs to hear his voice, even if he dreads what he has to say, and finally the angel does.

"How do you do it?"

When Dean replies, he speaks slowly, showing more caution with his choice of words than he ever has before.

"Do what, Cas?"

"Handle…this." Castiel's hand settles over his heart in a mock pledge and finally he turns to face Dean, and the hunter really wishes he hadn't because the blue in Castiel's eyes is so dark and so pained and so inescapable that he suddenly feels trapped. "Handle the disappointment….the pain of knowing that someone you devoted your life, your existence to, has abandoned you?"

It almost sounds like Castiel barely understands the words he's saying and Dean has to remind himself that even if he's felt like this more times than he can count, it's completely new to Castiel.

"Cas…"

What is he supposed to say?

"If I could rip this thing from my chest I would. I don't want it." And even though his hand is settled over his heart, Dean knows that the thing he is referring to is the pain.

"I don't."

Castiel looks at him, his head turning in a silent question that Dean might have laugh at if it was any other time.

"What?"

"Handle it…I don't handle it, Cas." He grits his teeth as he speaks, desperately not wanting to say any of this, but knowing that he has to, for Castiel's sake, and his own, because someone has to know. "What makes you think I can deal with it?"

"You-"

"What, because I'm still standing? That's an indication that I'm dealing? Jesus Cas, I'm fucking _empty_. I ain't got nothing left to give, and yet somehow I still keep doing it, but that doesn't mean I'm handling this."

"Dean…" Castiel is suddenly looking at Dean in a way that makes him want to hide, because maybe he could take the barely contained sympathy from Sam, but not from Castiel.

"Don't, just don't, Cas. Not from you, ok? I'm not fine, you're not fine, and Sammy's sure as hell not fine, and the world's falling in at our ears, but don't look at me like that."

"I've been _fine_ for a millennia." The words sound so bitter, and despite the indication of age laced within them, Dean suddenly is reminded of a petulant child when Castiel says them.

He laughs. He's not sure why, it's not really funny, but he laughs, hard. He clutches at his side under the blankets, doubles over and laughs, laughs until he thinks he's going to cry and then just laughs harder, because both their daddy's are gone, and he can't seem to save Sam, there's no world left for anyone and his chest _hurts_, so he laughs.

When he gains control of himself, his breath coming in gasps as he viciously wipes at his eyes, he notices the way Castiel is staring at him. There's no pity, no anger, not even the customary confusion. Castiel just looks at him like he _knows. _

He wonders if he'll ever laugh again now.

"I'm so…angry. So angry, Dean and I can't make it stop."

"It'll stop." He says, knowing that it's a crock of shit, but it's what he's supposed to say, right?

"No, I don't think it will. It's there, pulling at this _fucking _body, and if I'm not in control of it, then what am I?"

"Like everyone else." And Dean knows it's the wrong thing to say as he says it.

"Human? Need you forget, Dean, that I'm not human?" Castiel spits out, and Dean's taken aback at seeing Castiel this pissed.

"Of course not! How the fuck could I? I can't see the wings sprouting out of your back or the halo above your head but that holier than thou attitude is inescapable!" He shoots back, his words just as angry as the angel's own. "You don't have to remind me of my inferiority to you! What, now that I've pissed you off, you gonna throw my sorry ass back into the pit, angel boy? Fuck you Cas, and fuck all the angels like you."

He knows he shouldn't be saying this, that Castiel is hurting and he needs a friend to comfort him, but God dammit, he was hurting too. However, when he's sees Castiel's eyes widen before he looks down in what Dean can only interpret as guilt he still feels like a grade A asshole.

"Why did you come here, Cas?" He asks, much more quietly than before, his tone sounding as defeated as he feels.

Castiel looks at him then, his expression as open as Dean has ever seen it and says with only slight hesitation, "This was the only place I could think of that brought me even some form of peace."

"This shitty motel?" Dean quips, trying in vain to make a joke.

"By your side."

And it seems as if the air is sucked out of his lungs all of the sudden and the room is suffocating him because Castiel can't possibly need him, and yet here he is saying that he does.

"I'm no one's savior."

"I don't believe that." Castiel states simply, as honest as ever.

"Look Cas, I wish I could help you through this, I really do, but I'm far more fucked up than you are, believe me. I wish I could say just have faith in me and let that ground you, but it's no good."

"I was grounded the moment I gripped your soul in my hand."

The dual meaning is obvious, and Castiel just stares at him with those wide, honest eyes.

And he doesn't know why, doesn't know how to stop it, and wishes that Castiel had never said anything, because suddenly he actually is crying. Great, body racking sobs of just _everything_ and he wants to feel embarrassed but he can't, because he couldn't stop this if his life depended on it, and maybe it does.

When a strong hand settles on his shoulder and suddenly his face is buried into the chest of a stiff body that awkwardly holds him, he doesn't try to jerk away. He just cries. Breathes heavily and cries


End file.
